


Rolling Under the Stars

by quicksparrows



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 13:23:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10413144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksparrows/pseuds/quicksparrows
Summary: Little incidents on the road, little moments of levity between crises.





	1. Sleeptalk

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of loosely related ficlets set during the boys' road trip; I expect to do nothing plot-related in here, so just imagine everything in some dreamy space where the bookends of death and destruction matter little. A happier universe, perhaps.

"Hey," Prompto says, his voice floating up in the silence of the night. 

Ignis had been enjoying that silence, the white noise of crickets beyond the ripstop walls. He'd even been on the cusp of sleep, drifting into that limbo between organizing his thoughts for the next day and being dead to the world. He thinks: Bourbon chicken, hot and sweet, juices mingling with fried rice––

" _Hey_ ," Prompto repeats.

He's certainly awake now.

" _What?_ " Gladio grumbles.

"I was just thinking," Prompto says. 

He doesn't elaborate, and after a pregnant pause, Gladio exhales like a bull. To Ignis' left, Noctis is completely still. He could sleep through almost anything. 

"Think in your head, then," Gladio says. "I'm trying to sleep."

Prompto laughs quietly, under his breath.

"I'm serious, Prompto."

Prompto rolls over, air mattress creaking loudly, and he laughs against his pillow. Gladio leans up on an elbow, and Ignis feels a strong sense of impending doom, largely because he and Noct are between them and thus in the crossfire range. This sense of doom increases when Noctis chuckles into his pillow.

"Shut _the fuck_ up," Gladio hisses.

Prompto keeps laughing, and then:

"If there were two guys on the moon, and one killed the other with a rock, would that be fucked up or what?"

That is precisely when Noctis chokes out a laugh and Gladio hurls a pillow across the tent like a missile, and all hell breaks loose.


	2. Meatloaf

Gladio prattling about training drifts in one of Prompto's ears and right out the other. He's too focused on watching Noctis across the table. His friend isn't stuffing his face as usual; he's chewing on a mouthful like it is full of rocks, and then he swallows. 

Prompto watches him begin to pick at his meatloaf with his fork like it might have been poisoned.

"Noct?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you doing?"

Noctis looks to Ignis, who is watching him with a wary eye.

"Nice try," Noctis says, and he pushes the meatloaf aside. "Are there more mashed potatoes?"

"No," Ignis says. "You know very well that's not how dinner is plated. And even if it were — you can't just eat a mound of potatoes for dinner."

Noctis shrugs and digs into his potatoes just the same, leaving the meatloaf untouched. Prompto watches Ignis' stony disappointment for a moment and then:

"WHOA!" Prompto exclaims. "You put veggies in the meatloaf."

"They were puréed," Ignis confirms. 

"I still taste them," Noctis chips in. 

Gladio snorts and says nothing.

"And soon you will be married," Ignis says. "How are you going to reckon this with your bride, hmm? I don't imagine she'll be impressed."

Noctis just shrugs and tucks into his mashed potatoes.


	3. The Trick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lewd.

"Yeah, but if she's wet enough, you can give her multiple orgasms. One every minute."

"Do we really need to hear this?" Prompto says incredulously; his cheeks are pink like he's been slapped. 

" _Yeah,_ " Gladio says. "Someday you're going to finally get laid, _decades_ from now, and you won't want to disappoint."

Prompto startles a bit, laughing nervously. Ignis sighs, otherwise unshakeable. Noctis just hunches a little lower over his knees, eyes fixed on the fire. If he's flushing, the glow hides it well.

"Go on, then," Ignis says, with a sigh. Who can fault a man for being curious? Academic, even.  "Get this over with. How might a fellow find this legendary spot?"

"So here's the trick," Gladio says. "Get her to roll over on her belly, and elevate her hips so your wrist doesn't get fucked up from the angle. You want it to be low effort."

"Okay," Prompto says.

"Then when you get your thumb in, you want to angle down," Gladio says. "It's not as far in as you'd think, but you should be able to feel it. It's a bit rough. You can just put on the pressure hard or rub it, back and forth."

Prompto holds his hand out, thumb down. Ignis watches Prompto finger the air for a second, and then glances aside to see Noctis surreptitiously doing the same in his lap, mostly out of sight.

"And then what?"

"What do you mean, _and then what?_ " Gladio replies. "You never fingered a girl before?"

"I have," Prompto says, hotly, quickly. "I just wanted to... check."

Gladio sits back in his camping chair, the slender metal frame creaking as he shifts. He picks up his beer.

"Fucking hold onto her," he laughs.


	4. The Waffle House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a _roman à clef_ story, with love to my real-life Regalia crew.

"Why do these diners always put everything on too many plates?"

Noctis tears his attention away from the ludicrously old-fashioned jingle on the radio to look down at their table. It's true, he realizes. Every inch of the booth table is covered in plates, three or four a person, for all the various breakfast sides and additions and so on. A whole plate for a single side of bacon takes up its own real estate on the tabletop, edging out mugs of coffee and water glasses and oval dishes of heaping pancakes and steamy bowls of hash browns. 

Noctis watches Gladio's coffee mug slide precariously towards the edge of the table as Gladio reaches across to take the bacon.

"This is stupid," Gladio says. He looks cramped, sitting in this booth, and his impatience shows in his very voice –– as if the lack of sleep didn't make him crabby enough. "Don't need a whole damn plate just for bacon."

"It's so the kitchen can keep track of orders," Ignis says.

"How about they use their damn eyes — gah!" Gladio startles as Prompto reaches across the table to catch the near-toppled mug against his palm, jostling everything else in the process. "Watch it!"

"You were the one who nearly toppled it, man."

"I was trying to _condense_!"

"Condense your elbows," Noctis interjects, as Gladio nearly catches him across the ribs. Gladio just rolls his eyes and continues dumping sides onto their corresponding plates. Noctis interjects again: "And I don't want my bacon _on_ my eggs."

"It's all the same in your stomach," Gladio says, doing so anyway.

"That's not how they're _meant_ to be eaten—" Ignis pipes up.

"It's _food_. You stick it in your mouth—"

"Everythin' alright, guys?" adds the waitress in a buttery voice. She's at the end of their table, a perfect cliche in a pop-colour collared shirt and a hand on her pregnant belly. All four of them look at her, shenanigans stoppered. She's offering a plate. "Here's your last side of ham."

"It's fine. You can take these," Gladio says with a twitch at the corner of his mouth, and he passes her a stack of emptied plates. He then takes the ham with the other hand, dumps it on Prompto's plate, and hands the plate right back to her. She looks vaguely amused, but Noctis knows the look of thin, game servitude well.

"It's delicious," Ignis offers in peace. "Thank you."

"Well, holler if you need anything."

She wanders away with the plates.

"I didn't even order this ham," Prompto says. "And this egg is _watery!_ "

"So much for keeping track, then," Gladio says. "Now eat so we can go. My ass is going numb in this booth."

 


End file.
